


A Prison of Our Own Making

by rubychan05



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, First War with Voldemort, M/M, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 00:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3550160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubychan05/pseuds/rubychan05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus has nice hands, Sirius thinks. </p><p>It’s not like he goes round all day looking at them, or anything – that would just be weird, and a little bit creepy – but it’s something that he can’t help noticing at random moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prison of Our Own Making

Remus has nice hands, Sirius thinks.

It’s not like he goes round all day looking at them, or anything – that would just be weird, and a little bit creepy – but it’s something that he can’t help noticing at random moments. Like when they’re in Herbology, and Remus is gently coaxing Thillyriddle seedlings out of the soil. Or when they’re playing Muggle chess and Remus fondles his knight thoughtfully before making a move that’ll have Sirius checkmated in three turns.

Sirius watches those long, slender fingers move, and wonders what they’d feel like trapped between his own. It would be nice, he thinks, to curl up in front of the Common Room fire with Remus and just hold hands. It’s something he’s never really thought about doing with any of the girls he’s shagged, but it would be different with Remus.

Not that holding hands is all he’d want to do with Remus. The other boy has nice lips too, even though they’re chapped from the wind and constantly bitten. In fact, Sirius notices, Remus is biting them right now. The werewolf is bent over his Transfiguration homework, gnawing worriedly on his lower lip as he tries to work out exactly what McGonagall wants them to put in this week’s essay. Sirius thinks about stopping Remus’ nibbling with his own lips, about leaning over the parchment and taking Remus by surprise.

He wonders whether Remus would kiss him back. Thinks he probably would; it’s not like Remus hasn’t had offers from girls before, he just always turns them down to spend time with Sirius. And yeah, they’re mates, but you just don’t turn down Evie Finnigan without a bloody good reason why.

Sirius starts as he realises that at some point this evening Remus has started watching him back, homework lying forgotten in favour of meeting Sirius’ gaze. There’s something glinting in Remus’ eyes, something foreign and exciting that makes Sirius want to brush Remus’ stupid floppy fringe out of the way and snog him senseless. They’re Marauders: they can do anything they want to.

But then Sirius starts thinking about what would happen if he’s misreading the signals. How Remus would stammer something awkward and run away, how cramped and stifling their little dorm room would suddenly become.

He has too much to lose.

By the time he makes his decision Remus is looking down again anyway, working diligently on his essay once more. The moment’s passed; Sirius tells himself it doesn’t matter, because they’ll be out of Hogwarts in a few months and they won’t have to worry about stupid things like dorm rooms and reputations.

He has time.

* * *

 

After Hogwarts comes Voldemort, and the war, and far more funerals than Sirius ever thought he’d need to go to. Most of Sirius’ free time is taken up with work for the Order, and the rest of it is spent entertaining a very pregnant Lily when James isn’t around to do it himself.

He doesn’t get to see Remus much anymore; their schedules seem to run opposite to each other, with Remus coming in the door just as Sirius rushes out of it. The time they do manage to make for each other is mostly spent at the kitchen table, talking tiredly over cups of tea so strong they might as well be black.

On this particular occasion, Remus is practically nodding off over the teapot, worn out from a particularly violent full moon spent locked in the cellar downstairs. There’s a jagged gash down Remus’ right arm, where the wolf tore at itself in fury at finding itself alone and trapped.

It makes Sirius feel ill to look at it – he wishes he could have been there, but he couldn’t get home until the early hours of the morning, when Remus was already shakily making his way upstairs.

Remus didn’t blame him – he never does – and Sirius wonders why they’re fighting so hard to save a world which has made Remus so used to dealing with everything alone. It’s not right. Remus should be able to rely on someone without feeling it’s a burden, not a right. He should be able to share everything he has with someone, without fear of them running away.

Sirius wants to be that person.

He remembers the time in the Common Room, how he put things off because he thought they’d be free to do whatever they wanted as adults. Idiot. He should have realised how much of an illusion that was.

He thinks about it, for a moment. Thinks about curling his hand around Remus’ drooping neck and kissing him awake, kissing him long and hard to make up for the time they’ve missed. There’s a war going on, they could die at any moment, it’s the perfect time to throw caution to the wind and just go with it.

Sirius sighs, shoving back his chair and going to deposit his cup in the sink.

There’s a war going on, they could die at any moment. He doesn’t want Remus to be with him just because he thinks Sirius is his last chance at something resembling happiness before he dies.

If they both survive, there’ll be time enough after the war.

* * *

The walls of Azkaban close in on him, and Sirius huddles in the corner, tearing at his hair. The Dementors steal every trace of happiness he’s ever known, leaving only missed chances and flimsy excuses behind them.

He always told himself that the time wasn’t right, that one day they’d be free to do whatever they wanted, that he’d make his move then. It’s only now, trapped in a cell barely big enough to lie down in, that he can acknowledge the truth.

Freedom may be an illusion, but only because people make it so.

**Author's Note:**

> My goal: write >1000 words of angst with the prompt word of 'prison'. And naturally when I heard 'prison' I thought of Sirius. Has there ever been a character who has managed to spend so much of his life imprisoned physically AND mentally? Well...yes. But Sirius was who I thought of first anyway.
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr at [rubychan05](http://rubychan05.tumblr.com/).


End file.
